


loving you's a bloodsport

by DarkestTomorrow



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Baz baz baz, Baz is a sad tortured little vampire puppy and everything hurts, Baz thinking about Simon and all sorts of angsty disgusting goop, Drabble - I guess?, M/M, Mostly angst I suppose, Time period: somewhere before Chapter 61, possibly verging on an M rating? tread with caution s'il vous plait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestTomorrow/pseuds/DarkestTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a very drabbly piece teeming with angst and desolation and unfulfilled teenage vampire fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	loving you's a bloodsport

Pathetic. I think that word sufficiently reflects the – ah - _predicament_.

He’ll stand there, his fists curling in on themselves, his shoulders trembling with the helpless, mad kind of rage that envelops him every so often. The air is always thick with his scent – soap and smoke and _Snow._ He is everywhere and I do not exist.

I am so weak in these moments; it’s so hard to hold back. To not rush over and gently hold his trembling hands, to brush his curls from his face, to crush him to me and to breathe him in.

It’s hard – but not impossible. I’ve found ways around it; fisting my own hands until my nails sink into my palms, biting my tongue to keep myself from spewing foolish pleas for him to _calm down, to breathe, to just look at me . . . and breathe._ It’s easier for me to just make it worse: to goad him, to laugh at him, to be as cruel as he believes me to be. I still haven’t decided if it makes me hate myself more - or if this is _exactly_ what I thrive on. Having some control over Snow, some sort of effect on him – something, _anything._ And if inducing hatred is the best I can do, I’ll still take it.

Then there are other times when the victory does not come as easy. When he walks in with his flushed cheeks, his eyes that are both frozen rivers and burning suns, his head a crown of bronze jewels. He is so alive and so _present_ and so, so far away. And he’ll stare at me with those treacherous eyes of his, and something inside of me will begin aching in the most tragic, desperate way - and all I can think is angry thoughts; _violent_ thoughts. Leaping out of bed, and slamming into him. Pushing him up against the door, shoving my mouth onto his, my hands clenched in his hair, my teeth against his neck. Making him bleed; making him beg.

Hard, angry. _Mean_.

Instead, I grit my teeth and I reach for the best defence I have.

I make him suffer as he makes me suffer; I become the villain.

**Author's Note:**

> After that (hopefully) sufficiently coherent summary, I will now confess that I have no idea what the hell this is. I was just sitting in my room, feeling very much overwhelmed by a couple of rather gay wizards - and then this happened. Do let me know if you hate it very much - and thank you for reading :)


End file.
